


under glass

by pseudocitrus



Series: lycoris [3]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Established Relationship, Kagune Usage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Smut, ageswap au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I don’t need more than this</i>, Kaneki tells himself, firmly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under glass

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [玻璃之下](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667023) by [Lucyair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyair/pseuds/Lucyair)



> i...can't think of much to say....this just...continues the arikane au, with thoughts from neimana.tumblr.
> 
> ....hope you're having a good day!

_Kaneki-san._

The text comes at exactly the same time as always. In his mind, he sees Arima in some kind of office, eating some kind of fancy lunch.

Or — no, maybe — maybe a cafeteria, filled with people.

Or maybe in a small meeting, taking a break in the hall, the light from his phone reflecting on his glasses.

 _Kaneki-san._ It’s the same text as always. _May I come visit you today?_

Kaneki rubs his cheek and ducks into the break room to respond, where no one can see him. He holds his phone precariously, with a serving tray pinched up in his forearms.

 _Of course you can,_ Kaneki replies, as always. Then he bites his lip, and veers.

_Arima-kun, you don’t need to ask every time. After all, you’re my…_

He trails off. His…?

…friend? No, that’s…well, yes, but Arima was his friend before, even before all the…happenings. That they do.

 _Boyfriend,_ Kaneki tries, and his face flares. That doesn’t seem right either. And _lover_ …seems too…serious.

In the end, he deletes the last sentence completely, but isn’t quite able to get his face back down to a reasonable temperature before the door to the break room opens. Kaneki jumps.

It’s Touka. Her eyes narrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kaneki says quickly. He rubs his face, vehement. Touka stares. Her gaze shifts, and Kaneki follows it. She is looking at the fridge, which he is leaning against.

“If you need more food, just ask,” she tells him, with a sigh.

“Oh, no, I…right. Sorry. Of course.”

Touka frowns and then turns away.

“Come on,” she says. “We’re getting busy out there.”

“Right! Okay. Yes.” Kaneki follows her out. Back in the cafe, it’s busier even than Kaneki expected, and Touka sighs as she looks at the bustle. Now that Arima has stopped visiting, everyone is back in droves.

Touka is thinking the same thing. She sighs.

“I never thought I’d miss the Reaper,” she mutters. Kaneki smiles at her encouragingly, checks the orders, and pulls milk up onto the counter.

“Me neither.”

:::

Arima arrives, exactly the same as always. Kaneki opens the door and Arima looks at him, nods in greeting, and steps in as Kaneki gives him space.

He’s slow, deliberate; he looks back and forth, and up and down, and takes his time removing his shoes before proceeding inside. He has all the deliberation of a cat.

 _A stray cat,_ Kaneki thinks, pushing some food toward him. He watches Arima examine the plate and then eat.

 _I don’t need more than this,_ Kaneki tells himself, firmly. Arima visiting whenever he has some spare time — chatting about whatever Kaneki likes — embracing, whispering, staying the night, leaving without stuffing Kaneki into his guitar case, these are all things that make Kaneki happy and he shouldn’t… _doesn’t_ want more.

:::

Still, he can’t help keeping his ears perked for…

…something.

His chest twists, with discomfort, and with discomfort at the discomfort.

 _I don’t need more,_ Kaneki tells himself. _I don’t need more. I don’t._

Despite his chanting, though, things continue to balloon between his ribs. Maybe if Arima just — held him a little tighter, or — looked at him a little differently, or maybe if he just… _said_ …

 _Said what?_ Kaneki asks himself. _What?_

The days pass. He searches and searches, lost and unable to follow the path he’s made for himself. His mind flails even when Arima is looking at him, even when Arima is speaking.

“Tell me what you want,” Arima says. His hand slides between Kaneki’s legs; his voice slips between Kaneki’s ribs.

“M-more,” Kaneki stammers, after a moment, and Arima gives him a kiss, and it’s so, so close.

:::

It’s stupid to expect…whatever it is. Arima isn’t given to words in general. Interacting with him requires reading carefully between the lines. Even then, Kaneki’s understanding comes at best from puzzling over the fragments, and speculating on the gaps that remain.

Arima’s proficiency with sex, despite never mentioning past lovers, or even other coworkers or friends.

Arima never having requests for what he’d like Kaneki to cook for him.

Arima getting up every morning, so early and silently that sometimes he is gone before Kaneki is even awake.

Arima never asking what Kaneki does all day, and never having much to say about himself when Kaneki asks.

Arima reading every single book Kaneki suggests, but never having any recommendations of his own.

Speaking of which.

“Which one do you want me to read this time?” Kaneki asks, trying to be bright. On the bed, Arima shifts, and stretches.

“The same as last,” he says, as usual, and Kaneki smiles at him, and reaches. The book is close, teetering on the edge of the bed, but Kaneki misjudges; as his fingers brush it, it flaps to the ground.

He retrieves it, with a cough, and settles back. There’s a particular chapter of this book whose words are particularly lovely; even Arima had seemed enchanted. Kaneki reads slowly, calmly, leaning against Arima’s body, listening to his breath.

These moments, out of all of them, suit him best. Arima always falls asleep quickly. When his eyes flutter and finally shut, he looks…mundane. Average. At peace. Kaneki brushes his hair aside and carefully removes his glasses.

Kaneki closes the book. There’s only one line left in the chapter, and he knows it by memory.

“In this room,” Kaneki whispers, “you mustn’t love anyone.”

:::

Still, Arima isn’t completely reticent.

One evening, he comes by.

“Oh,” Kaneki says, with shock. “You…you didn’t message me.”

“My phone was destroyed,” Arima explains. “I apologize.”

“Oh, no, no! It’s — it’s completely fine. Come in, come in.”

For some reason, Arima is lacking not just his phone, but his guitar case. Without it looming up behind him, Arima seems — off, somehow. Smaller. He stares too deeply at nothing, chews his dinner too extensively, takes more time than usual to respond to Kaneki’s questions.

“Are you alright?” Kaneki asks weakly.

“I’m fine,” Arima says. But, later, when the dishes are put away, his voice is a little cooler.

“Kaneki-san,” he says. “Would you strip?”

His face is perfectly composed. Kaneki’s heart skips.

“A-ah…yeah. Sure.”

Usually it happens — a little more naturally than this. Or in a way that’s more…balanced, at least. Kaneki’s clothes pile up and Arima has him lie on the bed and then crawls over him, still in Dove’s uniform.

“Sh-should I do anything?” Kaneki stammers. Arima considers.

“Yes,” he says. He strokes Kaneki’s cock, until it stands firmly; and then he reaches for Kaneki’s hand, and replaces his fingers with Kaneki’s own. Arima’s glasses glint.

“Show me how you do it.”

The red on Kaneki’s face sinks down his neck. He swallows, twice, trying to consume his apprehension, unsettled when it drops into his stomach and scatters into butterflies. He pumps himself, slowly, and with a nudge of his thumb, and Arima studies, wordless.

This is…strange, but not…bad. In the absence of further instruction, Kaneki brings himself close, but just when his muscles begin to tense, Arima places his hand on Kaneki’s and squeezes, until Kaneki’s grip is tight.

“Don’t come,” Arima says. “Understood?”

Kaneki’s reply is breathless. “Y…yes.”

The rest of the night is — strange, then, and long, though maybe it’s just his imagination, his concentration twisted taut and strung out across a sweet agony of time that feels like hours. Arima makes a careful study, examining every centimeter of Kaneki’s body with fingers and mouth and tongue, taking note of every shiver and small noise. The pads of his fingers slide across goosebumps, reading something unfathomable; and even when he is not touching Kaneki at all, his gaze feels sharp, probing.

No place is left untouched. He strokes Kaneki’s tongue, feels along the backside of his knees, drags nails across the bottom of his feet, massages Kaneki’s cock with the back of his throat. When Kaneki begins to quiver with the effort of keeping control, Arima rolls him onto his hands and knees and grabs Kaneki’s dick himself, tightly, with a thumb posed over Kaneki’s slit.

“Not yet,” Arima whispers. Kaneki trembles. He braces himself on his elbows as Arima uses a free hand to probe the muscles of his lower back, and then between them, at the pulsing organ there that no human has. Kaneki holds his breath, and then lets it burst.

“A-ah — _Arima-kun_ — I — I can’t —”

“It’s fine,” Arima says, “show it to me,” and Kaneki buries his forehead into a pillow as Rc cells begin to ooze out from his skin. They coalesce, melt, coalesce — over and over — helplessly, weakly, trickles at first and then glittery streams and puddles. Arima’s fingers stir the soupy nerves, and the cells form around them, spiraling and suckling weakly, only able to reach Arima’s knuckles before peeling back and collapsing.

It feels — it all feels — weird. Incredible. Kaneki is panting, and he sucks Arima’s fingers hungrily as Arima offers them. Arima rolls his longest fingers in the curl of Kaneki’s tongue until they emerge dripping. Kaneki’s voice escapes as Arima penetrates him, slow, with a push and gentle hook, stroking him from the inside, softly, softly, even as his other hand’s grip tightens.

Kaneki shudders, and then begins to roll his hips. It’s too — too much. His whole body is quaking.

“Arima-kun,” he chokes finally, “p-please — let me —”

He doesn’t complete his sentence; he interrupts himself, with a gasp, and then a cry as Arima finally releases him. He climaxes, his whole body bucking, taking Arima’s fingers deeper inside, spilling shamelessly onto the sheets. He finishes breathlessly, but Arima isn’t done; he pushes deeper, and continues pumping Kaneki’s cock steadily, and Kaneki cries out as he climaxes again, with Arima leaving featherlight kisses on his nape.

If everything was a slow blur before, now it’s all too fast. Numbed with sensation, Kaneki shivers as Arima lays him on his back and continues, pressing touches and kisses and licks on all the places he discovered, leading Kaneki into one climax after another, until Kaneki is coming dry, until his fingers are too weak to clutch Arima at all and his hands droop weakly to the bed.

His whole body is hot, and wet. His vision blurs. Arima is watching him, and Kaneki can’t muster the energy to do more than let out another small and feeble noise. As Arima strokes Kaneki’s hair, though, a new warmth begins to spread up in Kaneki’s chest.

 _Thank you,_ he should say, probably. It’s…it’s nice. To…have this much attention.

 _This is all I need_.

Arima touching him like this. Arima…together, with him. Talking.

“A ghoul isn’t so different after all.” Arima is smiling, one of his rare and beautiful smiles, slight and yet filled with pleasure. His voice, as he continues, is quiet.

“In the end, you’re just as easy to maneuver as a quinque.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
